


Just Like That

by sussexbound (SamanthaLenore)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bathing/Washing, Crying John, Enthusiastic Consent, First Kiss, First Time, First Time Bottoming, First Time Topping, French Kissing, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Love Confessions, M/M, Pillow Talk, Tender Topping, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 21:19:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14481393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SamanthaLenore/pseuds/sussexbound
Summary: “When did I get so old,” John whispers, because anything else seems too much.“When I left you, I imagine.”  Sherlock murmurs, presses John’s hand between his.  “When I destroyed everything good in your life.”John shakes his head, and lifts his other hand to press atop Sherlock’s.  “You had your reasons.  I was angry for a long time, but I’m not anymore—not about that.  I’m angry at your brother more than you.  And as for—the rest, you know I don’t blame you for that.  It wasn’t your fault, Sherlock.  It wasn’t your fault.”“As your feeling old and useless isn’t yours.”John’s chest feels tight.  These are the most real words they’ve said to one another in months.  Usually it’s case related chat, or the weather, or light banter about something on the telly.  They haven’t talked like this since Sherlock’s birthday.  They don’t talk like this.  They never talk like this.John doesn’t want to talk anymore.He wants to…He wants…Oh.He wants.Oh dear god, how he wants.For the first time in what feels like years he WANTS.





	Just Like That

**Author's Note:**

> You have @posh-boy-clever-boy on tumblr to thank for this fic. She shares my love of tender toplock. This is by far the most erotic thing I've ever written, so keep that in mind.
> 
>  **Note:** This fic has Sherlock topping: lovingly, with constant checking in, infinite tenderness, open communication and very enthusiastic consent from John. Everyone is 100% on board with what is happening even though John initially battles with some nerves. There is no dom/sub dynamic in this fic. This is essentially tender, first-time love making in which Sherlock tops.
> 
> All that being said, if you are a person who is triggered by Sherlock topping in any situation and for any reason, or by any other of the tags on this fic, then please do what you need to do to ensure your own safety.

“Captain John Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers.”

The military man standing before him, looks him up and down, and snorts.“As was, I think.Am I supposed to be impressed?”

John sniffs, and shuffles from one foot to the other.

If Sherlock had been there, this would have been his cue to say something scathing, but he’s not.John is alone in this venture, because the posh git decided to swan off to Christ knows where just as they arrived at Queen Elizabeth hospital.John is fuming.It’s bloody Woolwich, what on earth can Sherlock possibly have to get up to in bloody Woolwich?!

“I’m here to see Lieutenant Evans.”

“Second Lieutenant,” the man corrects.“I’m his commanding officer, and just who are you?”

“As I’ve said, I’m Captain John Wa…”

“And as I’ve said: _As was_.You’re a civilian now, that’s clear as day.I have no obligation to let you anywhere near my men.What’s this about?”

“Sir, Evans engaged us to…”

“Us?”

“My partner, and myself.Second Lieutenant Evans engaged us to look into a private situation, that…”

“Now you mention it, I do know you.You run around with that queer detective that’s all over the telly again these days, don’t you?Oh, and I know all about the sorts of private situations Evans gets himself mixed up in, so if it’s not too much trouble…”

John sniffs and stands a little straighter, swallowing back the surge of adrenaline that’s just burst through his veins.“Is that so?”

“Yes _Mr._ Watson, that’s so.”

“Well then, you won’t mind if I ask you a few questions.”

The man is getting under his skin.John can feel it—the tightness in his chest and throat, the ache of the old broken femur in his thigh, the way he’s suddenly checking his exits.he knows the signs.He hasn’t spent over half a decade in therapy only to be ignorant of when he’s sliding up on an episode, but…

“Do you know what I think, Mr. Watson?I think that you aren’t in any position to be asking any questions of me, or my men.We’ll handle the situation internally.”

“I believe, _Sir_ , that the fact that Evans is currently lying in that hospital room in serious condition suggests that you have done a spectacularly poor job of handling the situation internally, and may I remind you that the British military has a strict policy against…”

“You don’t need to remind me of policy, you…”

“It seems maybe I do!”

A nurse appears at the end of the corridor, and hurries down it toward them.“Gentlemen, may I remind you that this is Level 2 ward, and we have patients who need quiet.If you cannot conduct yourselves in a respectable manner, I will have to ask you to step outside.”

John forces a tight grin through clenched teeth, balling his fists at his sides.“You know what, yeah, let’s do step outside.”

_______________________________________

 

They don’t say a word on the way home in the cab.John’s eye aches, and there is a cut on his cheekbone that’s already starting to bruise.His knuckles are bleeding into the leg of his trousers.

He’s shaking, and that’s the worst of it.He’s still shaking.

The cab pulls up in front of the flat, and John gets out without a word, just walks straight for the door, through it, up the stairs, and into the loo.Let Sherlock bloody well pay for once.Let Sherlock do something for once!

He yanks open the medicine cabinet above the sink and roots around for iodine.He can hear Sherlock’s footsteps on the stairs.

The iodine stings as he sloshes it over his knuckles, and he sucks in a hissing breath, letting the pain buoy him up on the adrenaline wave still lingering from the fight earlier.He feels wound tight, bordering on high, every cell in his body excited, vibrating.Usually it starts to wear off by now, but not today, and it’s making him tetchy and anxious.

Sherlock appears in the doorway.“He was twice your size.What were you thinking?”

“Sherlock, I’m warning you…”

“Look at you.”

“I have eyes, and I don’t need you reminding me that I’m too fucking old to keep up, so shut it.”

Sherlock sighs, and shrugs out of his coat, tosses it on the floor in the hallway before walking through the door into the loo.“Don’t be stupid, John.”He takes the bottle of iodine away from him, grabs a tissue from the box on the back of the toilet, and starts to dab at the cut on John’s cheek. 

It’s a complete surprise.He’s never done anything like it before, and it’s unexpected enough that it completely throws John.He sways over, and drops onto the closed lid of the toilet with a plop. 

Sherlock just follows, lifts his hair away from his forehead to look for lacerations along his hairline, and then drops it again when he doesn’t find any.“You’re going to have a black eye.I should get you some ice.”

“What you should have done was not left me.Where the hell did you go, anyway?”

“I was talking to Evans.You provided the perfect distraction.If I’d known you were planning on picking a fight with…”

“I didn’t pick it.He picked it.”John sounds petulant and all of 13 years old, and he knows it, but Sherlock doesn’t seem to mind.The corners of his mouth quirk up in an indulgent smile.

“Mmm…He did look rather the worse for wear in the end.”Sherlock drops the tissue in the bin by the toilet, and goes to the sink to wet a flannel.“So, I think your Captain’s status has survived the day.”

Sherlock returns, kneels down on the cold tile, and picks up one of John’s hands, wiping gently at his knuckles with the warm flannel.

John shivers, mutters.“As was.”

“Hmm?”

“Captain John H. Watson, _as was_.”

Sherlock sets one hand carefully back in John’s lap and picks up the other.“Nonsense.”

“No.”

“Does it matter?It doesn’t change anything.”

“Doesn’t it?”

Sherlock sits back on his heels,“Does it?” 

He’s still holding John’s hand in his, and for one mortifying moment, John feels himself on the brink of tears.“Does it?”It comes out barely a whisper.

“No.It doesn’t,” Sherlock says low and sure.

John stops breathing, caught in Sherlock’s gaze which is somehow fond and fierce all at once.He lets his fingers stir against Sherlock’s palm, and Sherlock lifts his other hand to cover John’s over, to shelter his bruised and bloodied knuckles in the warm cage of his hands.

Shit.

Fuck.

He is going to cry.

He does.

And Sherlock doesn’t say anything.He just sits there and looks.He looks at John like he knows, like he knows why this case, why this man, why today, why like this, why—everything.He doesn’t move.He just sits and cradles John’s bloodied fist in his large, warm hands, and he waits.

John tears his eyes away, and wipes angrily at them with the back of the sleeve on his free arm.“I _am_ getting old.”

“Yes.And so am I.”

“And what will happen when I can’t look out for you anymore?”

“Then I’ll look out for you.”

“That’s not your job!”

“No?”

“No.”

Sherlock’s hands wrap more tightly around John’s.It’s strangely grounding.John can feel the adrenaline finally starting to fade, leaving him tired, and calm, with just the hint of a headache.

“Am I not allowed to take care of you?”

John frowns.“I never said that.It’s just—that’s not—what we do.”

Sherlock nods.“I know.”

Still Sherlock sits, still he holds John’s hand, and John lets him, because it’s warm, and right, and feels so safe he suddenly realises he never wants him to let go.He never wants him to let go, and he doesn’t know what to do with that.

“When did I get so old,” John whispers, because anything else seems too much.

“When I left you, I imagine.”Sherlock murmurs, presses John’s hand between his.“When I destroyed everything good in your life.”

John shakes his head, and lifts his other hand to press atop Sherlock’s.“You had your reasons.I was angry for a long time, but I’m not anymore—not about that.I’m angry at your brother more than you.And as for—the rest, you know I don’t blame you for that.It wasn’t your fault, Sherlock.  That was never your fault.”

“As your feeling old and useless isn’t yours.”

John’s chest feels tight.These are the most real words they’ve said to one another in months.Usually it’s case related chat, or the weather, or light banter about something on the telly.They haven’t talked like this since Sherlock’s birthday.They don’t talk like this.They never talk like this.

John doesn’t want to talk anymore. 

He wants to… 

He wants… 

Oh. 

He _wants_. 

Oh _dear God_ , how he _wants_. 

For the first time in what feels like years he _WANTS_. 

It’s sudden, and completely overwhelming, and Sherlock must see it, because something flickers across his eyes for the briefest of moments.At first John thinks it’s fear, and feels a wave of shame, but in an instant the shadow is gone, only to be replaced by something altogether different.Laser focus.Hunger.And a fondness that makes John’s breath catch in his throat and more shockingly still, his cock stir in his trousers.

Sherlock slides forward, off of his heels, rises to his knees again, and lets go of John’s hand.John instantly feels the loss of it.He braces himself for Sherlock to get up and leave.It’s what they do.It’s what they always do in moments like these.But this time he doesn’t.He reaches down, and places his hands over John’s knees, guides them slowly apart, and then slides into the V he’s just created between between them.

John’s mouth waters, and he swallows hard, stares at Sherlock’s mouth, at his tongue darting out to moisten his lips.And then Sherlock leans in.He leans in until his nose is brushing the fine hairs at John’s temple, until his lips are ghosting over John’s cheek.The grip of his hands on John’s knees tightens. 

John remembers to breath, but just, and it’s quick, and shallow.He’s panting into cool, sterile air of the loo, with Sherlock’s hot breath on his cheek, along his jaw, whispering over his earlobe.

“You can tell me to stop...”Half whisper, half murmur, and the sound and sensation sinks into John’s very bones, courses through his veins, sets every inch of him aflame.

He shakes his head, somehow, just a little, but enough for Sherlock to see, and Sherlock exhales, as though he had been holding his breath, too, waiting ( _seconds, minutes, days, weeks, years_ ).He sighs against John’s ear, and then his lips are pressing to the skin just behind it, pressing and staying there, a tender, lingering thing that makes John dizzy, and thirsty, and confused all at once.

When Sherlock slides his nose down the line of John’s neck and presses another kiss there, hot and wet, John pulls in a breath and does exhale.He lets his eyes slide shut and his hands wander until they find Sherlock’s shoulders.He feels Sherlock hesitate as his hands settle there.

“You can tell me to stop…” murmured again, deep and clear this time, a sound that John feels in his gut and sinew.He exhales like he’s been punched, and Sherlock swoops in again, kisses his neck, sucks hard, hard enough to leave a mark, and John moans with the exquisite pleasure of it.To be marked, taken, to be laid bare.He should be terrified.He is.But Christ Jesus in heaven how he wants it.

Sherlock’s hands slide up his thighs, and back down again, firm, hot, sure.His thumbs trace the inside of John’s thighs and John feels himself growing hard, so hard his trousers are starting to cause discomfort.He should unzip himself, relieve the ache, or maybe… 

But…But, oh…

Sherlock’s teeth scrape slowly across the line of his jaw, and when he reaches John’s other ear, he sucks the lobe into his mouth, and hums deep against his skin.

“Oh… Christ.”

“John… You can tell me to stop…”

John shakes his head.

“John…”And suddenly Sherlock is there, eyes locked with his, forehead pressed to his, lips hovering, brushing, pressing.“Mmm…John…”moaned into his mouth, and then Sherlock’s tongue slides past the seal of his lips, hot and slick, and John lets go, lets it happen, lets their tongues tangle, lets Sherlock breathe into him, taste him, fill him. 

He feels the kiss in every cell of his body.It crackles over his skin like an early summer storm, it floods his veins with fire, he’s moaning, wholly wanton into Sherlock’s mouth, and Sherlock doesn’t stop, he simply deepens the kiss, his fingers kneading John’s thighs like a cat—odd and awkward, but sweet, and hot, and heady all the same. 

He’s gorgeous.He’s perfect.He’s going to be the death of him, and John has never wanted to surrender to anything more.

“Sher…Sherlock…”

Sherlock dips down to kiss just below his bruised cheek bone.“Tell me.”

“Wh…?”

“Tell me what you want?”The words rumble through John’s chest.

“Touch...”

“Where?”

“I—I don’t care, just…Please.Christ.Fuck.”

Sherlock shivers, and then buries his face in John’s neck, and licks a hot, wet swath against his skin, slides his hands all the way up his thighs, and brushes the back of his knuckles against the long, hard line of John’s erection.John whimpers, he actually whimpers, and when Sherlock does it again, and then again, he thinks that maybe he’s going to come, like a teenage boy he’s going to come in his trousers just from this, just from the softest brush of a beautiful man’s long, delicate fingers.

Sherlock palms him, sudden, unexpected. 

“Uhh, fuck.Fuck!Don’t I’m—I’m gonna..”

He pulls back and John subconsciously follows him with his body.He sees Sherlock’s eyes darken, the corner of his mouth twitch in a barely repressed smirk.Like two magnets, pole to opposite pole, they move together.Sherlock gets to his feet, slides his hands down the length of John’s thighs, and John rises, just like that, follows him into the bedroom, lies down on the bed, fully clothed, waits, and Sherlock comes too, slides down onto the mattress as though there is a thread connecting them, something they are powerless to resist.

Sherlock is kissing him again, his body half atop John’s, one hand cradling his face, the other sliding over his chest.John hates his shirt and vest.He wants to feel the heat of Sherlock’s hands against his skin, the whisper of his long fingers against his belly.He wants to feel…

Sherlock palms him again, and he arches up into the touch with a groan.What would it feel like skin-on-skin?What would it feel like?

“Off.”

“Mmm?”Sherlock hums against his mouth.

“Off. I want them off—your clothes.”

Sherlock pulls back, and looks down at him, cheeks flushed pink, eyelids heavy.“And you?”

“Yeah…Yeah, me too.”

Sherlock nods.“Let me undress you.”

“You want to…?”

“Yes.Let me.Please.”

John just nods.he sits up, and lets Sherlock undress him.Shirt first.Sherlock loosens each button carefully, peels the shirt open, frowns at the vest beneath, and then looks up and meets John’s gaze with a roll of his eyes. 

“Sorry.It was cold out this morning.”

“Always so buttoned up.” 

He slips the shirt down over John’s shoulders, and then tosses it across the room once he’s removed it.He goes for the vest next, spares no time in pulling it off over John’s head.And then he stops and looks.

John feels naked.Wholly naked, even though he has only removed his shirt.He’s suddenly self-conscious.He’s pale, and greying, too thin, and less than fit these days.He’s hardly anything to look at, and Sherlock _is_ looking, taking in every detail like it’s the most important thing he’s catalogued in his life.There is nowhere to hide (is there ever from Sherlock).His eyes are everywhere.

Sherlock presses a hand to the centre of John’s chest.It covers over the whole of it, heart sheltered and warm beneath Sherlock’s hand, and then he twists his wrist a little and slides a finger over one peaked nipple.The spike of pleasure takes John totally by surprise. 

Sherlock notices (of course he does), and so he does it again, and John can only blink, stunned as his cock throbs out an answering echo in his trousers.It’s becoming quite painful really, and somehow even that is turning him on.He’s losing his mind, he must be.He’s never felt like this: desperate, wild, willing to do or give anything if only he will touch again—there again. 

_A—ah—ahh…_

“Again.”The sound of his own voice, raw and rough, surprises him, but not Sherlock who grins, and then pushes him down, dips down, glides his tongue over the same nipple he’d teased to a peak only seconds before, and John cries out like he’s coming, maybe he is, because he’s never felt anything like this with anyone, this full body, aching, throbbing burn, so close to pain he can hardly tell the difference, and can’t bring himself to care.

Sherlock swirls his tongue and then sucks him into his mouth.John’s whole body jerks, his hips rising off the bed of their own volition.His cock makes contact with Sherlock’s thigh, and that is all it takes for his brain to shut off completely.He is nothing but a ball of white hot need.His legs rise up to lock around Sherlock’s thigh, and he ruts against him, panting, grabbing out blindly for any part of him he can find.

Sherlock meets him and pins his wrists to the bed.“No, no, no, no…”Tutting like John is a misbehaving child, and John struggles a little, because he wants to, because it feels like Sherlock wants it, and Sherlock only smirks down at him.“I like you like this…”pitched low and painfully erotic.

“Yeah?”John hears the wonder in his voice, like the first night they met, and everything Sherlock did set John’s mind, and heart and body alight.

“Yes.And I’m curious about something…”

“What?”John is panting hard.He strains against Sherlock’s hold on his wrists, just enough to keep their mutual desire stoked high, but not enough to be interpreted as actual objection.

Sherlock’s eyes rake over his body, linger on the bulge of his cock, twitching beneath the fabric of his trousers.His lips part, and his licks them, before returning his eyes to John’s.“How far do you want this to go?”

“Anything!”John chokes out before Sherlock has even finished speaking.“Everything.Please.Oh Christ, please…”He’s practically keening.It should be embarrassing, but he’s too far gone.

“John…”Sherlock’s tone has shifted.Softer, almost tender, instantly pulling John’s attention back to earth.“When you say, everything…?”

He swallows, mouth dry, head spinning.“I mean everything.”

Sherlock nods, his eyes glisten in the dim dark of the bedroom.“Alright.”

He stands up, and John almost crawls after him, but Sherlock smiles, and shakes his head.“Just wait.”He starts to unbutton his shirt.It’s slower than strictly necessary.He’s giving John a show, and John isn’t about to complain.He props himself up on his elbows, and stares as a long, pale strip of skin appears between the placket of Sherlock’s shirt.There is a small pink scar near the bottom of his sternum, and a light dusting of hair that makes John’s fingers twitch with longing.

John flops back and throws a hand over his eyes.“God you’re beautiful.”When he opens his eyes again Sherlock’s bare chest is flushed scarlet at the praise.John stores the knowledge away for a later date, and watches dry-mouthed, as Sherlock’s fingers drop to his belt.He’s hard, a gorgeous, long, slim line beneath his expensive wool trousers. 

John’s lips part and he licks them wet as Sherlock wastes no time in unfastening his belt, and unzipping his flies.His eyes slip closed in relief as he springs free.No pants.John’s head goes light.All day when they were out, when Sherlock sat beside him in the cab to and from the hospital, when they were sitting in Lestrade’s office, when Mrs. Hudson had brought up their morning tea, all that time Sherlock had been sitting there wearing no pants.

“God…”

Sherlock lets his trousers fall to the floor, steps out of them, and walks toward John, with purpose and hunger in his eyes.John’s heart rate ticks upward immediately, and he scrambles a little beneath Sherlock as he crawls naked over his still half-clothed body, before remembering to breathe, and relaxing again. 

Sherlock’s hands have stopped over John’s belt buckle.He’s waiting, John realises, waiting to make sure that he’s alright.John nods and Sherlock hurriedly unfastens it, unzips John’s flies, and yanks his trousers down.The relief is instant, and he groans long and deep as his cock finally has room to breath.He looks down between their bodies just in time to see a small bead of precome drip from the head of Sherlock’s cock onto his stomach.He drops his head back to the mattress with a moan.

Sherlock dips down to kiss him again, slow, deep, and when he finally pulls back his eyes are shining.“John, I…”

John swallows, and screws his eyes shut.“Pants.”

“What?”

He opens his eyes again, and Sherlock just looks slightly confused.“I want to take my pants off,” John clarifies.

A blush blooms across Sherlock’s chest.“Oh.Oh, yes.”He rolls off a little, gives John a moment to strip, and then crawls back atop him again.He hovers for a moment, arms trembling, and then lowers himself slowly down.His cock grazes over the inside of John’s thigh, and he huffs, bites his lip. 

John’s mouth waters at the sight.“Feel good?”

Sherlock only nods, and then settles the full weight of his body atop John’s with a sigh.

Everything stops.

There is something incredibly grounding about it—Sherlock’s weight pressing his body into the mattress, Sherlock’s cock pressing into the crease of his thigh, and his pressing against the firm planes of Sherlock’s stomach.Some of his desperation from before is waning.He’s coming back to himself, and he’s not sure if that is a good thing or not.

It hits him suddenly, what this is, what they’re doing.It makes him realise how easy it was, how willing he’s been—after everything, after all this time, and all the denial, and all the loss, after all the anger, and grief, and resignation.

He’s terrified, but at the same time he’s calmer now than he’s ever been in his life.

Sherlock is kissing him again, in that same slow, tender, almost reverent way he’s swiftly settled into.He’s still initiating, and John is only too happy to let him because he’s still reeling, but now he has John naked and in his arms, his whole approach has shifted from the erotic, demonstrative flirtation of earlier into something that feels much less like sex, and much more like…Something altogether more.

John wraps his arms around Sherlock’s body, and rocks upward a little as Sherlock cards his fingers through John’s hair and cradles his skull in his hand, and when Sherlock’s lips break away from his with a breathy ‘uhh’, John grinds against him some more, and relishes in the growing slickness between their bodies, the sweat, and evidence of both of their near unbearable arousal.

“God,” John breathes.“God, just—don’t stop.Don’t you dare sto…”

But Sherlock cuts him off with another kiss.

He lets his hands slide up and down the length of Sherlock’s spine.He can feel the vertebrae, each one.He can feel the fine mesh of fine scar tissue, and he can feel the sweat beginning to pool in the low places, the way Sherlock is trembling slightly, even as his kiss deepens, and he rocks down to meet John’s upward thrusts.

“John…”

“Mm…”

“Have you…”panted between kisses.“Have you ever…?”

“Done this before?”

“Yes.”

“Not exactly.”

Sherlock’s thighs tighten around his and he moans.“What does that me—mean?”

“Can we not talk about this now?”

Sherlock pushes himself up on his hands, pressing his groin into John’s and stills, eyes squeezed shut.“But…But you want it.You want me to…”

He rocks his hips, and John bites back a grunt of desperation.“God yes.Fuck yes.Stop stalling.”

Sherlock’s lips spread into a grin, and then his head drops and he opens his eyes.“Patience, Captain.”

A fresh surge of heat rushes to John’s cock.

And then suddenly, Sherlock is scrambling off him.John grunts in objection, but Sherlock is already frantically rooting around in the drawer of his nightstand, tossing things out onto the floor, and muttering.He reaches over and grabs the pillow from the head of the bed, and tosses it on John’s chest.“Put that under your hips while I find the damn lube.”

John laughs, because the shift in mood is so sudden, Sherlock so eager, and everything so utterly beyond belief, that he can’t help himself.

Sherlock’s head snaps around.“What?”

John just grins.“You.”

“What about me?”He sounds small, and slightly defensive and John knows he needs to…

“I—I just lo…I just like you like this.”

Sherlock’s eyes soften again, and his shoulders drop.“Oh.Well, good.Because you’re going to like me a lot more in a few minutes, I guarantee it.”And then he winks, and John giggles, and Sherlock chuckles as he finally plunges his hand into the night stand and comes out with a condom and a half-empty tube of lubricant.

“Finally!”

“You just have those lying around then?”

“One _should_ be prepared, John.”

“Thought you didn’t do that sort of thing.”

“Precisely. _You_ thought.”

“Oh?”

“Can we not talk about this now.”

John huffs out a laugh at his own words from earlier being fed back to him, and hugs the pillow to his chest, trying desperately to not imagine Sherlock doing this with someone else—anyone else.“If you get your arse over, here, then yeah.”

His heart is hammering in his chest, and his skin is prickling with anxiety as well as arousal, but he’s bloody well determined to see this through now, and he has no idea why.He’s never done anything like it, and…

Sherlock climbs back onto the bed and sits cross-legged beside him, fiddling with the condom packet.Growling in frustration after two or three aborted attempts, he finally lifts it to his mouth.

John shoots up and snatches it out of his hands.“Not your teeth!Now who’s impatient, Jesus.Here…”He tears it open easily and hands the packet back to Sherlock.“There’s no rush.Give me a minute to get used to the idea.”

“You were all over the idea a second ago, what on earth could possibly....”Sherlock freezes, seemingly remembering himself.“Oh.Of course.Do you want me, to…”He nods toward the door, and John puffs out a little laugh of frustration.

“No, of course I don’t want you to leave.Just come back down here.Let’s get back to it.Make me forget I’m…”

“You’re what?”

John sucks in a shaky breath and exhales.“Maybe I’m a little nervous, okay.”

“Oh.”Sherlock stares down at the mattress, and fiddles with the corner of the condom packet in his hand.“John, if you don’t want to…”

“Hey, don’t do that, okay.That’s not what I’m saying.I’ve told you I want it, it’s just—this is my first time since…”

Sherlock’s mouth forms into a small ‘o’ and he nods.

“And I’ve done a little bit of this sort of thing, but not this in particular.”

“We don’t have to.”

“I know.”It comes out sounding much shorter than he’d intended, and he sees Sherlock’s eyes flick up and then down again.

Both of their arousal has completely flagged.And isn’t that just the way these things always seem to go.Why is it, John wonders, that he always manages to fuck up the truly good things in his life?

Sherlock sets the condom and lube down on the bed, and lays down.He takes the pillow from off of John’s chest, and brings it down to rest under his head, motioning for John to lift his own head, and share it.

And when they both settle, he reaches out and traces a line from John’s shoulder, down his arm, over his hip, and then dips his hand down to cup his arse, and pull their bodies close.John doesn’t resist.

“I can make you forget, if that’s what you want,” he whispers against John’s lips.

John feels a sudden surge of emotion.“I…”

“Or I can help you remember.”

“Remember?”

“What it used to be like.What we were like…”

“What do you…?”

“Back before everything.”Sherlock nudges John’s nose with his, and presses their lips together.“You remember, don’t you—the first night we met?”

John kisses him back, small sips from his lips, hand sliding down Sherlock’s flank to cradle the rise of his arse as well.“You said you were married to your work.”

Sherlock shivers, and kisses him a little slower, a little deeper.“I panicked.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.You were more—responsive than I’d anticipated, and I panicked.I—I wanted you from the start, you see.”

The confession breaks something in John.For the briefest of moments he thinks he’s angry, but then he realises his eyes are burning with an altogether different emotion.He’s nearly crying and he’s kissing Sherlock like it’s the first and last time, like he’s a drowning man, and the only thing keeping him alive are the moans he is drawing slow, and deep from Sherlock’s mouth, the way Sherlock shivers against him, and draws him in even closer.

“I wanted you too,” gasped out when he finally comes up for air.“So much.For so long.You have no idea.”He kisses him again, and again, tastes the salt of his own tears mingling with the sweetness of Sherlock’s mouth, and suddenly he’s a desperate, clinging, frantic ball of need, all over again.There isn’t an inch of Sherlock’s body he doesn’t want, and he can’t seem to get enough at once.

“I was so alone, and you…” 

He aches at the hollow emptiness of the memories.And when Sherlock rolls onto his back, taking John with him, all he can think about is how it isn’t enough, how no matter how close, how much of Sherlock he can touch, feel, taste, it will never be enough.He wants to draw him up under his skin, tucked beneath his heart.he wants to make them one—shared cells, and blood, and even the very energy binding their atoms together. 

They’re both growing hard again as their tongues tangle and their heartbeats speed up and fall into a perfectly coordinated rhythm.Sherlock’s hands smooth down John’s back, and John settles firmly back into his body when Sherlock kneads his arse beneath hot palms, and dips down to kiss his neck.“John… _John._ ”

“Christ, I—I need you.Please…”

One of Sherlock’s hands disappears, but the other stays where it is, one finger, stroking along the crack of John’s arse, while he arches up against John’s body from below, his cock a hot, hard pressure in the crease of John’s thigh.

John grinds back down, hard.It’s painful now, with only sweat to slick the space between them.Sherlock grunts, and grabs onto John’s arse with a firm squeeze.“John, wait.Just wait.”His hand disappears from John’s body, and John huffs.“Just _wait…_ ”

He can hear the slight amusement in Sherlock’s voice, and so he tries to relax, wipes his mouth messily over the salty skin of Sherlock’s chest, runs his hands up Sherlock’s ribs, all the time resting against his chest like he’s half drunk, and Sherlock’s body is the best bed he’s ever had in the one place that’s every felt wholly and truly like home.

Sherlock’s hand returns in short order, cupping the rise of his arse, kneading, until it’s joined by another, and John can feel the added slickness of the fingers that tease down the cleft of his arse.He tenses little, and Sherlock stops, traces the other hand up his spine, down again, rolls his hips upward again.“You can move, John.Tell me what you want.”

John knows exactly what he wants.He reaches back, and grabs Sherlock’s wrist, leans slightly away, and pulls those long, slick fingers between their bodies, and down to his cock.“Too dry.”He dips down and sucks a lovely pink mark into the pale skin of Sherlock’s chest.“Starting to hurt a bit.”

“Ahh…”And then Sherlock’s hand is wrapping around his cock, giving a long, languorous pull, and John drops his forehead to Sherlock’s chest with a strangled sound he’s fairly sure he’s never made before in his life.

It’s good. 

It’s so fucking _good_ …

He feels Sherlock reach down to slick himself as well, and then his hand is back on John’s cock, moving, moving, oh fucking Christ!

“Oh God.Oh Jesus.Jesus, Sherlock don’t stop.”

Sherlock’s cock throbs against him, and he can feel himself getting hot, and somehow impossibly harder in Sherlock’s hand.Sherlock moans, and John feels his balls draw up.

“Oh God.Stop.Stop!”

Sherlock’s hand immediately stills, he lets go.

“It’s good.It’s—it’s just too good.Give me a minute.”

“John, I really don’t think I can keep…”

“Yeah, I know.I know.Sorry.Just—maybe do what you were going to do before, okay.I want it now.”

Sherlock sighs, hot and long into his hair, and John hears him fiddling about with the lube again, and then his hands return to John’s arse, and his fingerswaste no time slipping between and coming to rest against John’s entrance.

“Go slow.”

“Of cour—course.”Sherlock’s voice breaks, as he presses gently with a single finger. 

It feels incredible, and John can’t help but grind against Sherlock’s stomach, just a little, just a tiny little rock of his hips, and then another.

“Uhh…John…”

Their bodies glide together easily now, and Sherlock massages the entrance to John’s body in small circular motions that match John’s thrusts in speed and intensity.It shoots pleasure straight to John’s core, and he knows he should still, or he’s going to be at the brink again in a minute, but he’s all hunger and need now.He wants it.He NEEDS it, and he wants and needs it all as soon as possible.

“Do it.”He nuzzles Sherlock’s chest, and drags his tongue along one peaked nipple.

“Oh fuuu…”Sherlock’s hips arch up against him, the finger pressed up against John’s entrance, presses harder on instinct, and John gasps and then moans as he feels his body take Sherlock in.

“John!”Sherlock’s knees bend, and he brings his legs up to wrap around the back of John’s thighs.He’s panting like he’s run a marathon, like it’s John who’s just breeched _his_ body, and he’s trembling, trembling, breathe coming in hot, desperate puffs against John’s forehead, one hand kneading John’s arse, frantically, his finger hesitating practically vibrating just inside.

“Just do it.Feels good.Just—deeper.Do it.”

And so Sherlock does.Small thrusts that have John squirming in no time, deeper and deeper with each push.He’s not at the right angle to hit John’s prostate, and thank God for that, or it would all be over in seconds, but it doesn’t mean it isn’t the best damn thing John’s ever felt in bed, with anyone, hands down, bar none.

“More,” he chokes out.

Sherlock pulls almost all the way out on the next thrust, and John feels a second finger pressing against him.He’s dizzy with want now, rocking against Sherlock’s stomach, moaning like he’s half out of his mind.“Jesus…Please.Please, Sherlock.Please.”

The stretch as a second finger joins the first is bordering on uncomfortable, but the almost pain sets a bright hot flare to the edge of his pleasure, and he pushes his arse upward in a frantic attempt to get Sherlock to go deeper.

Sherlock chuckles in a breathy huff, presses John’s body back down against his, and thrusts deeper, all the way home. 

John cries out, reaches out to grip Sherlocks sides, and wills himself not to come.It’s fucking phenomenal.So good.So fucking good, and all he can think about is how it’s not enough, how we wants more.

“Sher—Sherlock…”

“Mmm…”

“I want—I want you.I want you.”

“You have me.”

John shakes his head against Sherlock’s chest.“In me.”Sherlock’s fingers slide deep even as he shivers at John’s words.“Oh God Sherlock, please.I can’t…I need it.Please.”

And then, suddenly, John is on his back, empty, aching, and Sherlock is scrambling above, him stuffing a pillow under his hips, pulling him toward him by his upper thighs, fumbling with the condom, and finally squeezing out the last of the lube to slick himself, dusky purple, throbbing, rock hard, with a groan.He pushes John’s thighs back, scoots forward, and presses himself up against John’s hole with a shudder.He’s trembling all over with attempted restraint as he waits for John to take him, and John looks up at him, wrecked and beautiful, and wonders why in the name of all that is holy, he ever waited this long.

“Sherlock.”

Sherlock’s eyes slide open, heavy-lidded, he’s flushed all over and glistening with sweat.

John smiles softly through shallow breaths.“Please.”

Sherlock nods and presses in, all the way in, in one glorious, slick glide, that feels almost like too much, pain and pleasure mingling, “Ahhh, fuck…”

Sherlock knows enough to still for a moment once he’s seated, to let John catch his breath.Or maybe it’s Sherlock who needs to.He looks stunned and relieved all at once, like a lifetime’s weight has just dropped from his shoulders.His head drops back, exposing the long line of his throat, making John’s mouth water, and his hips move—just the slightest motion.Sherlock moans long and deep, a moan that breaks off into a breathy grunt as he feels John push impatiently against him at the sound.

His eyes snap open and his head drops, his eyes meeting John’s.John moves, and Sherlock hisses.The burn is subsiding now.John reaches down, and wraps a hand around himself.“Uhuhh…God!”He pulls slow, savouring the pleasure racing down and pooling at the base of his spine as he wanks himself slowly, watches Sherlock watch him, slack-jawed, and half drunk with pleasure.He can feel himself tense around him.And then finally, finally Sherlock moves, instinctual, needy.

“Oh yeah.God, yeah.Sherlock.Do it.Do it.I want it.”

Sherlock grabs his hips, in an iron grip, and thrusts hard, groans as John grunts at the impact.John feels himself clench around Sherlock's cock, and Sherlock lets out a strangled cry, and starts to thrust in earnest.He finds a rhythm quickly, his soft grunts, and moans swiftly spiralling into ragged whimpers, and broken utterances of John’s name. 

He’s getting close—fast, and John is right there along side, wanking furiously, while Sherlock thrusts in and out of him, rocks against him, pants out his name like it’s a prayer and he’s desperate for salvation.

John feels himself reaching the end, and briefly entertains the idea of slowing down, holding, back, letting Sherlock come first, but then he remembers the way Sherlock chokes, and whines, every time John clenches around him, and he gives up all pretence of waiting.He speeds up his hand instead, let’s the heat pool low in his belly, fill him up until he wonders if he could die from it, just this, right here, this peaking surge of pleasure just before he breaks, so tight and full, so pure and absolutely, fucking beautiful.

“Oh, Jesus fucking Chr…Sher—Sherlock I’m…I’m…”

It hits him like a speeding lorry, knocks the wind out of him, wracking his body with wave after wave of near unbearable pleasure.He shouts, and tries to rock upward, as he pulses hot and slick over his hand and belly.

Through the haze of his own pleasure he is only vaguely aware of Sherlock’s hips stuttering, and then snapping forward as he cries John’s name, every muscle in his body taught, his grip on John’s hips tight enough to bruise.Sherlock shudders out a series of tiny thrusts as he spends the last of his orgasm, and then collapses atop John’s body with an exhausted whimper.

It’s quiet.Strangely quiet for the middle of the afternoon on a Thursday.Mrs. Hudson is out, John suddenly remembers with relief.The distant hum of traffic, and their own synchronised breathing is the only sound in the warm, humid cocoon of the bedroom. 

John lets the post orgasmic torpor overwhelm him.He doesn’t want to think about what it all could mean.He just wants to be in the moment, because he’s just had the best sex of his life, with the one person, he suddenly realises, he loves more than he’s ever loved anyone.It feels like a moment to be savoured, cherished, and then tucked away safely before it is gone.

Sherlock is dead weight atop him, and John smiles.He lazily wipes his hand on the sheets, and then reaches down to card his fingers through his unruly curls.“Don’t fall asleep.You need to bin that condom.”

“Mmfff…” the only reply.Suddenly Sherlock shoots up, propping himself up on his elbows, either side of John’s ribs.“John.”

John grins dopily.“Hi.”

Sherlock blinks, a small wrinkle starting to form between his brows.His eyes fill.“Are you alright?”

John nods, throat tight.“Yeah.Yeah, I’m—great.”

He sees some of the tension leave Sherlock’s body.“I didn’t…?”

John shakes his head, not intuiting what he’s getting at.

“I didn’t hurt you?”Sherlock clarifies.

John wiggles a little, assessing the damage.“Don’t think so.I might not be sitting too comfortably tomorrow, but I think everything’s there and accounted for.”He winks.He’s flirting.He’s openly flirting with Sherlock, and it feels—like a bloody relief, if he’s honest.

“Your eye.”

“What about it.”

“It looks terrible.You should have let me get you ice.”

“Fuck ice.This was better.”

Sherlock blinks, and then his mouth spreads into a wide smile.“It was rather, wasn’t it.”He sits up, swings his legs over the side of the bed, and slips off the condom, tying it off neatly, before getting to his feet.He sways once before righting himself and then heads for the loo.

John’s heart sinks.This is his usual routine, so he knows it well: both come, lay together for a few minutes, chat briefly, clean up, get back to the day-to-day.This is what you do when you wanted to have sex with someone you fancied, and did.This is what you do when sex is—nice.He should be fine with it.Fine.This is Sherlock after all.He’s lucky he ever got a chance at this at all.Things will probably go back to the way they were now, and that’s alright, he supposes.That’s alright.As long as they’re still friends and…

“Stop thinking, I can hear you all the way in here!”Sherlock’s voice echoes out from the loo.“I’ll be right back.”

John pulls the pillow out from under his hips and flops back on the mattress.He cranes his neck, stares down at his belly, sticky with his own cooling come, and sighs.“Bring a flannel when you…”

Sherlock appears in the doorway of the bedroom flannel already in hand.“What do you think I was doing in there?Come here.”

John reaches out for the flannel, but Sherlock just ignores him.Instead, he slides onto the mattress, and starts to wipe softly at John’s belly, taking extra time with the hair at the base of his cock, the crease of his thigh, the underside of his balls, and then, folding the flannel over, dirty side in, starts to clean the drying come from around his bloody knuckles.

Something in John’s chest clenches tight.It’s a weirdly intimate gesture, and John has never had a lover before who had done anything like it.

“There,” Sherlock states, setting John’s clean hand back down on his belly.“I imagine we should clean those wounds again before wrapping them.”

_We?_

_We._

John doesn’t know what to say, but he doesn’t have to think about it long, because Sherlock gets back up and goes into the loo again.The water turns on and back off, and he returns with a fresh flannel, reaching down and tapping John’s hip.“Roll over.”

John does without questioning, and wonders why, a moment later, when Sherlock carefully parts his cheeks, and begins to delicately clean there as well.John is relieved to be on his belly, because he can feel his face heat, and his eyes bite. 

He buries his face in the mattress.This is Sherlock, he reminds himself.Sherlock is like this.Sherlock does things that are—unexpected.It doesn’t mean anything, and there’s no reason for him to be feeling so…So absolutely and utterly—vulnerable.

Sherlock finishes, and pats his hip again, but John can’t bring himself to roll back over.His face is burning.He hears Sherlock drop the flannel on the nightstand, and then sit, very still on the edge of the bed.“John?”

“What?” from inside the cage of his arms.

“You aren’t alright.”

“Am.”

“Alright, but…You would be honest, you would say, if…”

“Yes.”

Sherlock sucks in a quivering breath, fidgets.“Was it alright?Did I do it wrong?You should say if I did.”

John blinks, and turns his head, and Sherlock looks down at him, brows knit.“Course you didn’t.Hey…” when Sherlock’s eyes drop.“‘Course you didn’t.It was…”John realises he has no words for what it was.It was something beyond description.It was something—defining.

Sherlock nods.“I’m sorry.I should have…I shouldn’t have…”

“Yeah, you should.”

His eyes snap back up to John’s, and John smiles, small and crooked.“Yeah, you should have, because I’m a bloody idiot, and I—I meant what I said.I have wanted this—you, for years, and I…I needed you to…I needed it to be you who…”He swallows tight, and sighs in frustration.“I’m sorry, okay.That’s fucking weak, and I know it, but I—that’s who I am, Sherlock.Fucking weak.And I needed it to be you.”

Sherlock holds his gaze until John doesn’t think he can bear it much longer, until finally—“I know.I’ve known for a long time.I’m sorry it took me so long.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I wanted to be sure, and then…I wanted it to be right.I’d planned, and planned.I hadn’t planned for today at all.But then I saw you.I saw you wanted it, today.Needed it?”

Sherlock turns toward him brow wrinkled in question. 

John nods.“Yeah.”

Sherlock nods and stares back down at the mattress.“So, I decided I’d prepared enough.”

“It was, you know.”

Sherlock looks back up at him in question.

“It _was_ right.It was…”

Sherlock smiles a small ghost of a smile, and then shakes his head and looks away.“I shouldn’t have cleaned you afterwards.It made you uncomfortable.”

“It made me…”John thinks.He digs deep, because it’s important, because it matters, and Sherlock has been the brave one today, so unbelievably brave, this is the least he can fucking do.“It scared me.”

“John, I’m sor…”

John sits up.“Come here.”

Sherlock does, without hesitation, without question.he lets John pull him back down into his arms, and press his lips to his forehead.He lets John breathe into his hair for a long while, before he finally continues.

“It scared me because of what it made me feel.I don’t know what this is I feel for you, okay.It’s so big, and I’ve never—I don’t have anything to compare it to, and this, today, everything that happened, everything we did, it was the…”John’s voice breaks, and he has to swallow hard and blink back the moisture swimming in his eyes before he continues.“It was the most—perfect thing that’s ever happened to me.And I don’t want that to end, and I don’t want to lose that.I can’t.I can’t lose you.”

Sherlock nods against his chest.“You won’t.I love you, John.You won’t.”

Just like that.

_I love you._

_I love you, John._

_I love you, John.I’m staying._

John sniffs and wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand.“Love you, too.Always have, probably.”

Sherlock’s arm tightens around his waist.“So—we could do this again sometime?”

John huffs out a wet laugh.“Yeah.I’d say so.Was kind of hoping, actually.”

“Good.I think it went well for a first time.”

John laughs outright.“I’ll say.Wait—do you mean our first time, or…?”

“I mean first time in every sense.”

“What?”John tilts his chin down to stare at the top of Sherlock’s head.“So you mean that you’d never…?”

“No.Why?Was it obvious?”He sighs.“Was it the thing with the condom packet?Because that was not my fault.”

John grins and shakes his head.“It wasn’t the bloody condom.How…?You know what, I’m not even going to ask.That was the best bloody sex of my life, and I have no idea how you…”

Sherlock tilts his chin up, exceptionally serious.“YouTube, John.It’s amazing what you can learn on YouTube.”

And John laughs deep and long, because of course…Of course.


End file.
